


wherever you find love

by Fiver



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8983417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiver/pseuds/Fiver
Summary: “Alright,” Enjolras says after a moment of silence. “Get it out of your system.”Grantaire, without consciously planning to do so, bursts out laughing.“You're an elf,” Grantaire manages, redundantly, once his laughter dies down. “Oh my God, Enjolras. You're a mall elf.”--Or, Enjolras and Grantaire realise how little they really know about each other, and that Christmas really does bring out the best in some people.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write Christmas fic and I wanted to write a softer Enjolras and I KNOW he's canonically all 'severe even in his pleasures' and I usually try to work with that but it's CHRISTMAS and you all can just let me HAVE THIS
> 
> I'll get back to writing """Serious Fic"""" soon enough, now switch your brains off and eat up your Christmas fluff, it's good for you
> 
> (probably not going to get this finished before Christmas lol so I hope everyone's going to keep in the festive spirit even after the big day)

 

_~_

 

Here is the lie that TV ads and Christmas movies try to sell to you: that the Christmas season is a time for chilling in front of an open fire with your perfect nuclear family, sipping hot chocolate in the warm glow of your eight-foot Christmas tree and basking in your adoring love for one another.

And here is the reality, Grantaire thinks wearily as he looks upon the battlefield of the mall in front of him. The decorations are beautiful and Christmas music is jingling away in the background, but the festive effect is rather dampened by the hundreds of harassed shoppers shoving past each other, almost every single one looking like they'd knock unconscious any person who slowed them down for even a minute. He is not looking forward to entering the fray.

A small hand tugs on his and he looks down.

“R,” whines Julien, who is a sandy-haired four year-old and the youngest of Grantaire's charges for the day. “I want to see Santa.”

“We're going to see him,” Grantaire assures him before doing one last check that he still has all four children that he's supposed to. Julien, check. Adeline, check. Felicia and Mathieu, double check.

“Okay, everyone hold hands,” Grantaire says, arranging the children so that he has two on either side of him and grasping the hands of the two closest to him. There had been some minor squalling and bickering on the tube journey but they were quieter now that their goal was so near, their eyes wide and bright with anticipation.

Grantaire braces himself before leading them into the heaving crowd. Most people give way easily for his gaggle of small children, but others jostle them and some even throw Grantaire irritated looks, which he ignores. Pricks. If your shopping is so important that you have to trample a bunch of little kids to get it, then maybe you're missing the point of Christmas just a little.

Near the centre of the mall the pathway widens to become an open circular area; in Grantaire's experience this space is usually occupied by things like cars that people can try to win or pop-up stalls, but for now it holds one thing only, and that one thing is Santa Claus's Grotto. He hears at least two of his kids audibly gasp as it comes into sight.

He'll admit, he thinks with a grudging smile, they've done a pretty cool job of it this year. Its outer perimeter is surrounded by a low wooden fence, inside which there is a mini wonderland of sorts, covered in fake snow and crowded with a few stuffed reindeer, piles of brightly wrapped boxes, an inflatable snowman and a beautiful tree heavily laden with lights and tinsel and candy canes. The grotto itself is more or less a glorified gazebo, but its exterior is decorated to look like a log cabin with a red-tiled roof and icicles hanging from the eaves, and it too is strung with fairy lights and a large wreath, which is real, judging by the smell of pine that hits Grantaire as they approach. The kids look immediately enchanted by it. Unfortunately, there is also a large sign on the door flap of the grotto-zebo, and it says 'Santa is currently busy getting ready for Christmas! Please come back later!'

 _Oh shit,_ Grantaire has just enough time to think before the door flips open and a girl steps out in a thoroughly adorable elf costume. She catches sight of him and he's just about to plead with her to let his kids see Santa for like _five seconds_ or he's going to have four tantrums on his hands, when her face breaks into a wide smile.

“Hi there, are these the kids from the community centre?” she asks. “We're expecting you, of course, Miss Simplice called ahead. We closed so that they can have a session all to themselves.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says with a laugh of pure relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Are you one of Santa's helpers?” Adeline pipes up.

“I am!” the girl replies, smiling wider and jiggling her head so that the bell on the end of her hat tinkles merrily. “And there's one other helper here today too – I'll just go get him and then we can get started, okay?”

She disappears back into the grotto. Grantaire is just thinking that she looks awfully familiar and is wondering where he might know her from when she reemerges, bringing the answer with her, and Grantaire's heart just about stops.

“Hello, everyone,” Enjolras says, positively beaming at the children. “I hope you've all been good this year?”

The kids chorus in the affirmative, while Grantaire just stares. Stares at _Enjolras,_ he of the severe demeanour and disdain of the frivolous and, typically, of the impeccable and fairly conservative clothing, currently wearing a bright green belted tunic, a matching belled hat and close-fitting red pants. Are they _leggings?_ They might be leggings. His blond hair is in a short, neat braid curling over his left shoulder, the hat has pointed ears attached to it to complete the elvish transformation, and perhaps most unbelievably of all, he appears to have a dash of glitter on each cheek. And he's smiling completely unselfconsciously and talking to two of the kids while the girl – who Grantaire now realises is his sister, Cosette – takes the other two, and he looks completely ridiculous and completely _adorable,_ and Grantaire is ninety per cent sure he's having a stroke or something because _this cannot be real._

It is real, though, and that much becomes abundantly clear when Enjolras looks up from the kids, catches his eye and recognises him. Grantaire offers him the closest semblance of a smile he can manage at present. Enjolras's smile is still firmly in place, but it's definitely for the children and not for him – a look of something that might be horror flashes briefly across his eyes, but it's there for a second and just as quickly gone, and he turns back to the children.

“Come and see our Christmas tree,” he tells them, leading them to it over the layer of fake snow.

“You come too, R,” Julien insists, hanging on stubbornly to Grantaire's hand. He's a little unsure of strangers, even beautiful elvish ones.

“I'm coming, don't worry,” Grantaire says.

The kids each receive a candy cane from the tree, and then they press the two elves relentlessly with questions about life at the North Pole. Do the reindeer really fly? How do they do that? Who's the friendliest reindeer? Do you know how to make every sort of toy? How do all the toys fit in Santa's sleigh? How does he get into houses with no chimney? It goes on and on, but Enjolras and Cosette answer every question, and so convincingly that Grantaire wants to give them an Oscar. They've clearly practiced this and put a lot of thought into it, and it's sweet. Grantaire knows that Felicia, the oldest of the kids, had been starting to have her doubts about Santa's authenticity, but he sees her doubt being swept away as Cosette describes, with utter conviction and an impressive level of detail, the personality of each reindeer and his or her favourite snack.

“Would you all like to come and meet Santa now?” she asks once everyone's curiosity has been satisfied and there is a chorus of cheers from the kids before they stampede for the gazebo, Cosette hurrying behind them. Even Julien goes without a backward glance because, naturally, Santa doesn't count as a stranger. This, of course, leaves Grantaire alone with Enjolras.

“Alright,” Enjolras says after a moment of silence. “Get it out of your system.”

Grantaire, without consciously planning to do so, bursts out laughing. It's laughter born more of surprise and disbelief than any real mockery, though, and perhaps Enjolras can tell because he favours him with a rare, dry smile.

“You're an elf,” Grantaire manages, redundantly, once his laughter dies down. “Oh my God, Enjolras. You're a mall elf.”

“I am,” Enjolras agrees. “Well done for noticing.”

“If you don't mind me saying, you look more 'Lord of the Rings' than 'Santa's Little Helper',” Grantaire says with a grin. In a moment of unbelievable daring, undoubtedly brought on by his sheer astonishment, he reaches up and gives Enjolras's hat a little tug. “Or maybe Link from Legend of Zelda.”

“You can make fun all you like, Grantaire,” Enjolras says with a roll of his eyes. “It's not going to bother me.”

“I'm not making fun of you,” Grantaire protests, putting up his hands. “Anyone who'll dress up for the amusement of children is a hero and exempt from mockery. I'm just...surprised? No, surprised doesn't cover it. Flabbergasted. Gobsmacked. Utterly thrown for a loop. I never thought you'd...I mean, no offence, you're just so...”

“Serious?” Enjolras suggests, a little half-smile quirking his mouth.

“Well, you did get awfully annoyed at Courfeyrac for showing up at the Musain dressed up as Cupid on Valentine's Day.”

“That was at a _meeting_ ,” Enjolras says. He huffs out a small laugh. “I suppose you only ever see me at meetings.”

“You mean there's a secret fun Enjolras I don't know about?” Grantaire asks, clutching at his chest in mock horror. It's really a moot question, though; here, outside the environment of an ABC meeting, even disregarding the elf costume, Enjolras seems immediately different. He's smiled at Grantaire twice so far in this conversation, which is probably as much as the total number of times he's ever smiled at him before. Grantaire wonders if he should have gone to all those social nights he avoided because he thought they'd be awkward, or that Enjolras wouldn't want him there, or because he was intentionally limiting his interactions with Enjolras to the weekly meetings to prevent himself from being eaten alive by his big dumb crush. He wonders if he would have seen a softer side of Enjolras at those gatherings, if he might have learned in advance that dressing up as a Christmas elf was the sort of thing he willingly did.

“So what are you doing here?” Enjolras asks him, disrupting his reverie. “I thought you'd gone home for the holidays like everyone else.”

“Home is here for me,” Grantaire answers. “And I, uh, volunteer with Miss Simplice's children's group at the community centre. I run a little art class for them, that sort of thing. But she's short on people to bring them to see Santa, and the kids know me, so y'know, I thought I'd help out. Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Enjolras asks, looking at him strangely. “That's really nice. I didn't know you were involved with them.”

 _Clearly there's a lot we don't know about each other,_ Grantaire thinks but does not say, his eyes catching on the sparkles on Enjolras's cheekbones.

“I knew you were just being irritating when you said charities were pointless,” Enjolras says, folding his arms and looking a little smug. Grantaire snorts.

“That's my stance on charities who think they can have a bake sale and change the world overnight,” he says. “It's like, achievable goals, please. And making a bunch of little kids smile a few times a week seems achievable. And definitely not pointless.”

Enjolras is looking at him as if seeing him for the very first time, and Grantaire feels a hot flush spread over his face. Which is just unfair. Enjolras is the one in the elf costume, there's no way Grantaire should be the one feeling embarrassed right now.

“Will you be coming to the kids' Christmas party, then?” Enjolras asks. “It's what we're raising money for here. We want to make it extra special this year.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, noticing the donations buckets dotted around for the first time. He starts rooting in his pockets for change.

“You don't need to give us anything, you're here with the kids we're raising money for,” Enjolras says, looking amused. Grantaire just shrugs and throws a handful of coins into a bucket.

“Yeah, I'll be there,” he says. “I go pretty much every year, but I've never seen you there before.”

“We only got involved with Miss Simplice and her work this year,” Enjolras says with a nod. “She does such good things.”

“Yeah, she does,” Grantaire agrees with a fond smile before pausing. “Who's 'we', exactly? You never mentioned this at any ABC meetings.”

“Oh, no. This is more of a family affair,” Enjolras says. “I'm sure you noticed my fellow elf is my sister.”

“How do you find the time?” Grantaire chuckles, shaking his head.

“I never bother scheduling ABC events over Christmas. I know everyone just wants to go home as soon as university ends. I have time.”

“It never occurs to you to take a break?”

“No,” Enjolras says with a faint and entirely more familiar frown. “Why, is that a bad thing?”

“No, it's great,” Grantaire says and he's sure his smile looks horribly love-struck and dreamy but he's saved from too much mortification by the kids exploding out of the grotto and swarming around his legs, clamouring for his attention.

“R, we met Santa-”

“He gave us cookies!”

“We got presents, look, look, look!”

“His beard is real! He let me check!”

He does his best to respond to all of them, admiring Adeline's new colouring book and Mathieu's light-up yo-yo and wiping cookie crumbs from Julien's face.

“Alright gang, be sure to thank the nice elves before we leave,” he says finally, unable to stop himself shooting a grin in Enjolras's direction. The children oblige, and Enjolras and Cosette give them a little bow and curtsey.

“Doesn't R get to see Santa?” Julien says suddenly, looking slightly upset, which Grantaire finds a little touching.

“I saw him another day, don't you worry,” he says reassuringly.

“Can R get a candy cane too, then?” Felicia asks.

“Of course he can,” Enjolras says, plucking one from the tree and handing it to him with another smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Grantaire feels what he is sure is another incredibly dopey smile take hold of his face before he herds his group of children out towards home.

~

Grantaire goes home that night and tries, with the help of a bottle of wine and a lot of introspection, to come to terms with what he has seen that day. He finds himself on his laptop at one in the morning, scrolling through the photos on the Amis de l'ABC page and scrutinising every picture in which Enjolras appears, as though they might hold some clue that he missed at the time. He goes through dozens of shots of Enjolras staring stonily into the middle distance at a protest, or wearing a small, dignified smile in group shots, or standing at a podium delivering a speech with impassioned zeal, and he comes to the conclusion that no, he isn't delusional, and the Enjolras that _he_ knows from ABC meetings really does give the impression of being a straight-laced, brutally serious, carved stone statue.

He hesitates a moment, fingers hovering over the laptop trackpad, and then does something he's never done before.

Going onto Enjolras's own facebook feels just a step _too_ creepy, so he goes to Courfeyrac's instead, and starts looking through the photos on there. Before, he's only ever looked at ones that he's been tagged in, having felt no great desire to see all the stuff he was missing out on every time he declined to join everyone for a group activity. He sees now that he's missed out on rather a lot; cinema trips, laser tag, ten pin bowling, fireworks displays – and apparently, many, many nights of dancing and drinking. He sees multiple photos of Enjolras caught up in fits of unrestrained laughter, the likes of which he's never seen anything close to from him, and one of him dancing badly with shameless abandon with Courfeyrac at some club or other- there's even one of him _singing karaoke,_ for God's sake. And there are a few videos too – with a feeling of trepidation, Grantaire clicks on one. The bowling alley wobbles into focus; Courfeyrac is filming and narrating as Enjolras selects a bowling ball and steps up to their lane.

“ _And here goes Enjolras, going for a strike. He assures me he's going to do it this time. A hush falls over the crowd. Enjolras takes a deep breath. He's spent years preparing for this very moment.”_

And then Enjolras throws the ball with absolutely no finesse, and it immediately rolls into the gutter and doesn't hit a single pin. Grantaire nearly jumps out of his skin when Enjolras throws his hands in the air and cheers loudly, as if failing miserably had been his intention all along. A moment later Bahorel barrels into view and picks him up and proceeds to parade him around, chanting 'worst! Shot! Ever!' while Enjolras positively shrieks with laughter.

Grantaire decides the next video will have to be the last, or his brain might just implode on itself.

This one appears to be in someone's apartment in the aftermath of some serious partying, judging by the number of empty bottles and glasses strewn around. Enjolras is curled up in the corner of a sofa, and there's some jostling of the camera as Courfeyrac goes to sit next to him.

“ _Hi, Enjolras,”_ he says.

“ _Hi,”_ Enjolras sniffs. Grantaire realises that he's crying a little, but strangely, Courfeyrac sounds like he's trying very hard not to laugh.

“ _Did you drink a little more than you should have tonight, Enjolras?”_

“ _I'm fine.”_

“ _Why are you crying, then?”_

“ _I just...”_

“ _What?”_

Enjolras makes a small, frustrated gesture with his hands before hiding his face in them and mumbling something.

“ _What was that?”_ Courfeyrac says, sounding very close to cracking.

“ _I just love my friends so much,”_ Enjolras sobs finally, and Courfeyrac loses it completely.

“ _Aw, baby,”_ he manages to say in between splutters of laughter, and he reaches out to pet Enjolras's hair comfortingly. The video ends when Enjolras goes in for a hug and apparently knocks the phone out of Courfeyrac's hand.

Grantaire closes his laptop, gulps down the last of his wine and goes to bed, where he spends several hours lying staring at the ceiling and silently cursing Enjolras for daring to secretly be a many-faceted actual human being all along. Grantaire had been more or less _surviving_ his stupid, pining crush before being hit with that bombshell; he isn't sure how he's supposed to continue surviving it _now._

~

It's a few days later when Miss Simplice calls him to ask if there's any chance he could do another Santa run; she had another volunteer, but they've come down with flu suddenly, and the children will be so disappointed-

Yes, yes, of course, he tells her. He has the day off work anyway, and it's not like he has a whole lot of Christmas shopping to do, what with most of his friends having left the city until January. As he shrugs into his coat, he tries to figure out if he's looking forward to a second encounter with elf-Enjolras, and finds that he really can't decide.

There are only three kids waiting with Miss Simplice when he arrives at the centre this time. He can see the rest of her day's charges through the nearby open door, a few of them watching today's lucky three jealously. The lack of volunteers means they're having to take the kids to see Santa in small groups; the few paid employees are run off their feet as it is, and it would be beyond unmanageable, not to mention illegal, for just Grantaire and Miss Simplice to try and take them all at the same time.

“I can take a fourth, if you want,” Grantaire tells her. “I managed fine with four last time.”

“You did, but one of the other volunteers didn't,” Miss Simplice says with a touch of weariness. “I'm limiting it to strictly three per trip from now on.”

Miss Simplice is a small woman with white hair but of indeterminate age; she has seemed old for as long as Grantaire has known her, but never seems to tire or grow any weaker as the years pass. He suspects she might simply be immortal.

“Thank you for doing this at such short notice, Grantaire,” she says.

“No problem,” he tells her. “And I promise I'll bring them back in one piece. Come on, guys.”

He's got Lucas, Chloe and Sacha today. He knows the three of them pretty well, and knows that Sacha is particularly shy, and so doesn't push when he remains stolidly quiet while the other two chatter away.

Getting them through the mall is just as much fun as last time, but they manage it, and when they reach the grotto, Enjolras and Cosette are waiting for them.

“We meet again, Legolas,” Grantaire says once Cosette has led the children off to meet Santa. “Sorry, I feel like I should definitely be able to come up with a pun combining 'Legolas' and 'Enjolras' but it's just not coming to me right now.”

“What a shame,” Enjolras remarks. He looks just as absurdly adorable and adorably absurd as he did the last time Grantaire saw him, except that he appears to also have glitter on his eyelids today. Grantaire tries not to stare too much. Enjolras sighs and flops down to sit on a nearby hay bale, upon which one of the toy reindeer is grazing.

“I'm exhausted. It's been so busy these last few days,” he says with a groan. “My face hurts from smiling so much.”

“Poor thing,” Grantaire laughs, sitting down next to him. “Hang in there. We can't have a frowning elf at Christmas time.”

“Trust me, I know,” Enjolras says.

“It's too bad the others aren't here. I'm sure they'd be happy to take a turn and give you a break. Jehan and Joly, especially,” Grantaire says. “God, can you imagine?”

“Speaking of the others, I have to admit,” Enjolras says, “I was surprised when the group chat didn't immediately blow up with you yelling in glee about this, after last time.”

“Well, I thought perhaps elf-Enjolras was a Christmas secret,” Grantaire says, grinning. “And anyway, if you denied it, there's no way they would believe me.”

“I don't think the others consider me to have as severe a reputation as you do,” Enjolras says, amused. Grantaire thinks of all the photos he saw the other night and realises that he's right. “And it's not a _secret._ Combeferre and Courfeyrac know already. You can tell the others if you want, I don't care.”

“In that case, I guess you won't mind taking a selfie with me,” Grantaire says, whipping out his phone and holding it at arm's length as he leans in as close to Enjolras as he dares. It's not very close; he's unsure of Enjolras's boundaries for such things, and really, he's only joking, expecting Enjolras to spring away squawking to avoid the camera. He therefore takes a small heart attack when Enjolras closes the remaining distance between them, squashing up against him for prime selfie composition. Grantaire had been gearing up to make some terrible pun revolving around the fact that 'selfie' contains the word 'elf' but with Enjolras so warm and close to him it's really a miracle that he even manages to take the picture.

He checks the photo. Enjolras is smiling completely unabashedly, and he's smiling too, but at Enjolras, not at the camera, which is just embarrassing. A strange, warm feeling forms in his stomach as he realises that this is the first and only picture ever taken of just him and Enjolras. He feels like he should print it out and preserve it in a vault, or something.

“You need to stop being so photogenic,” Grantaire declares. “It totally detracts from the fact that you're dressed as an elf.”

“Are you saying that dressing as an elf makes me look worse than usual?” Enjolras says with a look of mock-hurt. “You don't think it suits me?”

He gives a little jerk of his head, as Cosette had done before, to make the bell on his hat ring. Grantaire blinks, then tilts his head back and laughs helplessly for quite some time.

“Oh my God,” he says finally, wiping at his eyes.

“What?” Enjolras says, looking close to laughter himself.

“You're...fuck you, you're _funny_ ,” Grantaire says, laughing some more. “You're a goofball and I never knew. I can't believe I never knew.”

“Maybe you should see more of me,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes. “Who knows what you'll learn next?”

“Yeah, that's...yeah,” Grantaire says, fumbling in his valiant attempt to not say _Oh my God yes I'd love to see more of you, you have no idea._

“We could hang out some time, maybe,” Enjolras says after a short pause. “I would've said so earlier, if I'd known you were staying in Paris. It's so lonely without the others here.”

“It is,” Grantaire agrees. His days since Christmas vacation started have been exceedingly dull without Joly and Bossuet's jokes, and Jehan's gentle talk, and Bahorel's...yelling. He's busy musing over how much he misses them when he realises that Enjolras is waiting for him to answer.

“Oh! Yeah, we could...I mean, if you wanted to, that'd be great,” he says. Stunningly articulate, if he does say so himself. “Yeah, whenever you're free, hit me up, sure.”

“Cool,” Enjolras says with a smile, and he might have said more but that's when Sacha comes barreling out of the gazebo and climbs straight into Grantaire's lap, bawling and crying.

“Woah, hey buddy, what's wrong?” Grantaire asks him, but gets no response besides Sacha jamming his face into his chest and continuing to cry, undoubtedly leaving some lovely tear and snot stains on his coat. Cosette appears a moment later, looking distressed.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what happened,” she says. “It was his turn to talk to Santa but when he was called over, he just...”

“It's fine, it's fine,” Grantaire assures her. He fishes a tissue out of his pocket and does his best to clean up Sacha's red, tear-streaked face. He'd assumed that Sacha, like Julien before him, wouldn't consider Santa Claus to be a scary stranger, but apparently he'd been wrong and he really could kick himself. “Hey Sacha, it's okay. I'll come with you to talk to Santa, how about that, huh? Don't want you to miss out.”

Sacha is still sniffling but he nods, and Grantaire picks him up and carries him back into the grotto. Chloe and Lucas are sitting on the floor, comparing the presents they'd just received, and they look happy enough. The inside of the grotto is cosy and warmly lit, and in a very large chair in the centre sits the man himself.

Grantaire is immediately amazed as he approaches by how convincing the guy looks – he's used to mall Santas being skinny guys in oversized velour suits with fake beards hanging off their chins, but this guy looks like the real deal. His short white beard is clearly his own, his suit is a beautiful deep red and fits well to his stocky frame, and his eyes are kindly and seem to twinkle in the glow of the fairy lights.

Sacha refuses to detach himself from Grantaire's neck, which means that he has to sort of awkwardly kneel down next to Santa's chair, but his presence is enough of a comfort that Sacha doesn't start crying again when the man starts talking to him so he supposes it's worth the uncomfortable position. The old man is appropriately jolly and kind and manages to coax a few words and even a smile out of Sacha before giving him a small gift, which turns out to be a stuffed toy. A dog, Grantaire thinks, though he can't be exactly sure since Sacha is clutching it to his chest and showing no signs of letting go. He smiles.

“Thank you,” he says to the very convincing Santa before giving Sacha a nudge. “Are you going to thank Santa too?”

Sacha mumbles something, and Grantaire supposes that's the best they're going to get. The old man looks delighted.

“You're very welcome,” he says. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Alright, come on guys,” Grantaire calls to Chloe and Lucas. “Time to go.”

He manages to round them up, get them back into the coats and jackets they'd discarded, and get them out of the grotto. He finds Cosette standing just outside, still looking a little fretful.

“Is everything alright?” she asks.

“Yeah, it's all good,” he says. He wonders if being beautiful and so goddamn _good_ is just something that runs in Enjolras's whole family. “Everyone's happy, and now we can go so that Santa can see some other children.”

His entourage makes some unhappy noises at that and Cosette laughs.

“Wait, before you go.” Enjolras is over by the Christmas tree; he plucks another candy cane from it, comes over and tucks it neatly into the breast pocket of Grantaire's coat. He smiles brightly, and Grantaire gets the strangest sense that this one isn't just for the sake of the kids. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Grantaire manages to reply more or less like a normal person, but he knows, just _knows,_ that his face has gone pink, and he decides it's definitely time to leave, and he does, doing his best not to look too hurried about it.

~

There's another first that night: Enjolras sends Grantaire a _message._ As in, a message _just for him._ The only contact they've ever had outside meetings before has been in the group chat, usually when Enjolras is giving orders and trying frantically to organise one ABC-related event or other. They've never _socialised._ Grantaire tries to ignore his embarrassingly loud heartbeat as he opens the message.

 _Hi,_ it reads. _Could you send me the photo you took of us today? Thanks!_

Grantaire can only stare at his phone for a long moment, just floating dazedly in the knowledge that Enjolras wants a copy of their one and only photo, for reasons he can't fathom but frankly doesn't care too much about. He sends him the picture.

Approximately five minutes later, he is scrolling absently through facebook and sees that Enjolras has made it his new profile picture. Which means that everyone in Enjolras's social media sphere can see a) Enjolras in his elf hat with glitter on his cheeks and eyelids, and b) Grantaire looking at Enjolras in an elf hat with the most horribly fond and doting expression ever committed to a photograph.

He drinks some more wine, and goes to bed.

 


End file.
